Thursday, December 14, 2006
Prose Poem
It was nearly the dawn of the apocalypse, we were led to believe. The school principal spent the day sharpening a mountain of pencils. The janitor, who lived on a raft, drew Groucho moustaches on the children as they filed in for lunch – a dish of wine and bread. All were hush during the school play. Everyone was a character, and in the end everyone tragically died on stage.
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